


Trust Exercise in Restraint

by leftennant



Series: Road Trip of Champions [9]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies), Wintershock - Fandom
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, F/M, Feels, Fluff, Restraints, Smuff, Smut, Tied To A Chair, WinterShock - Freeform, based on the prompt 'the pleasant misuse of ties' from the sex trope meme on tumblr, ducky - Freeform, little tiny bit of angst, more of a trust exercise that gets smutty, not bdsm, prompt for dresupi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 10:23:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7044538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leftennant/pseuds/leftennant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fic for 'the pleasant misuse of ties', prompted by Dresupi on tumblr.  (AKA Bucky gets tied up as a trust exercise, and Darcy rocks his world.  'cause dammit this is a sex trope prompt, and I'mma bring it with the smut, thank you very much.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust Exercise in Restraint

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dresupi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dresupi/gifts).



> Hi guys! Sorry I've been quiet lately. We had a death in the family, but I had a few hours free today, and it gave me a chance to start tackling some of my prompts. (I needed the distraction, tbh. It's been a rough couple of weeks.) So, that being said, please enjoy this smutty addition to the Roadtrip of Champions series. Also if Rule Number One doesn't have an update this week, it will definitely have one next week. I've got most of the chapter done at this point. It just needs some tweaking and stuff. <3
> 
> **************************************************

Bucky’s still unsure of his decision to agree to this when she finishes the knot around his left wrist. It’s a little loose. Looser than he would have used to tie anyone up, anyway, though it wouldn’t matter how tightly Darcy tied it. He could tear through the silky fabric without even trying if he wanted. 

Ties. She decided to use his _ties_. Not rope. Not tape, but four of the barely used ties he keeps hanging in his closet for special occasions. Bucky taught her how to tie the knots himself, and if he were anyone else...well, any ordinary anyone else...he’d be stuck in the chair. Hell, _she’d_ be stuck in it, if he were to tie her up like this.

An image of Darcy tied to a chair passes through his mind, and Bucky winces. He could never do it. Never. Not to her, anyway. Which is why after his therapist suggested using restraints in a safe space to help him work through some of his lingering issues, he’d chosen to be the one tied up.

She takes a step back, biting her lip, eyes traveling over each knot nervously before making their way up to his face. “This okay?”

“It’s fine,” Bucky replies, even though he feels jumpy, and anxious, and like he might stand up and tear the chair apart at any moment.

“You sure? Because you don’t look fine,” Darcy insists. She covers the knot over his right wrist with her hand, fingers cold on his skin.

She looks more hesitant than he feels even, and Bucky forces a smile onto his face to reassure her. “Yeah. I’m fine. C’mere.”

He can’t use his hands, so he jerks his chin down to indicate that she come closer. Instead of just stepping between his legs, Darcy slips fluidly into his lap, mindful of the chair arms framing in their bodies. It’s completely unexpected, but the weight of her on top him is immediately grounding to Bucky. The fabric pulls tight around his arms, halting their momentum as he instinctively reaches to put them around her waist.

“Looks like you’re in charge,” he says. Apprehension marches up his spine, and he wrestles it back down. This is _Darcy_. His girl. The one who knows every shadowy corner of his soul, and loves him anyway. Bucky trusts her with his life. Besides, the bonds around his wrists and ankles are more symbolic of that trust than actually holding him place. His mind begins a litany of _I can get free at any time. I can get free at any time. I can get free at…_

“Bucky?”

“Hmm?”

“You _can_ get free at any time. All you have to do is ask. This is for you, remember?”

He swallows, glancing up at her with something like shame. “I said that out loud?”

“Yeah. Not that I blame you. I can’t imagine how hard this is for you.”

“It’s not. I’m good.”

Darcy shifts in his lap, hands rising up to cup his face. “Liar.”

“I'm not lying,” Bucky replies, but the words sound unsure even to him.

“Uhuh.” She narrows her eyes, leaning forward until their noses almost touch, and Bucky is trying not to go cross-eyed. “Vell, ve haf vays of making you talk, Sergeant Barnes.”

“That accent supposed to be German?” he asks, and she frowns at the way his lips are twitching with amusement.

“No. Russian. Why?”

Bucky shakes his head. “No it’s not. It’s German. Or what you think German is, anyway.”

“No, it’s what I think Russian is,” she replies indignantly.

“Y нас есть способы заставить вас говорить,” he says.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“We have ways of making you talk,” Bucky repeats this time in English. “That’s how they’d say it, not that anyone really says that outside of the movies.”

“U nas yest' sposoby zastavit' vas govorit'.” She says the foreign words slowly, working out the pronunciation. It’s not perfect, but recognizable as Russian. Hearing the language of his former captors come out of Darcy’s mouth is possibly the most disconcerting thing of this entire experiment, and Bucky wishes he hadn’t said anything about her bad German accent.

“Maybe we should just stick to English,” he suggests.

She gazes at him, noting the tightness around his eyes and mouth, and nods. “You got it, handsome. Anyway, I’ve totally got ways of making you talk. Wait until you see.”

“That sounds more like my Darcy,” Bucky says.

Her response is an absent hum as she reaches for the final tie that’s draped over the arm of the chair. She pulls it through her fingers, and then looks up at his face. It’s meant to be a blindfold. This is the part that Bucky’s truly been dreading. Feeling restraints around his arms is bad enough, but it took his eyesight longer to recover than anything else when they pulled him out of cryo, and he was at least partially blind while strapped down in that chair more times than he likes to remember. 

Darcy pauses, the swath of fabric pulled taut between her fingers and thumb on both hands. Her eyes scan his face. He can read every emotion flickering through them. She’s sizing up his reaction, and as hard as Bucky’s trying to hide it, he knows she can tell how much he hates the idea of that blindfold cutting off one of his senses while he’s trapped.

“We’re not using this,” she states, tossing it out of reach.

It's not the plan, and Bucky thinks they should probably follow through on all of it. Even still, his protest is half-hearted at best.

“But...the uh, the therapist said…”

“Fuck her. She’s not here right now. I am. And I say we’re not using that. You’re at your limit. This is supposed to be a trust exercise. How can you trust me if I push you too far?”

His shoulders sag in relief. “I could just close my eyes.”

“Yeah, you could.” Her lips press against his forehead with a gentleness that sends a rush of warmth through his whole body. “No pressure though, okay? If you need to open them at any time, open them. This is about you. That’s all I care about.”

Bucky nods, and she runs the pads of her thumbs over the crease in his eyelids, watching as they slide closed. Behind them he's able to sense the light in the room, and her shadow blocking it as she moves. It’s still making him edgy, but less so than the idea of the blindfold was.

“You okay?” Darcy whispers, and he nods again. “Alright. I’m gonna start.”

Her weight disappears as she climbs off his lap. For a moment Bucky is consumed with full tilt vertigo. The world veers sideways, and the chair feels like it’s about to dump him onto the carpet, even though he knows it isn’t. Then there’s a soft touch on the back of his neck, and everything stabilizes. He’s safe, feet planted on the floor, and body anchored by the feel of her skin on his.

“Lean your head back,” she says softly. “I’ve got you.”

He does until it’s resting against her chest. The even rise and fall reminding him of the time he held her through the tunnels under the Chesapeake Bay, and had to talk her through the claustrophobia she was feeling. Except now Darcy is the one talking him through things while her fingertips trace over the planes of his face. Words spilling over him, telling him how much he means to her, and how he’s safe, and loved. It’s so damn soothing, the feathery brushes of her fingers, and the way she runs her hands over his jaw and down his neck. Bucky begins to relax despite the restraints. 

He’s quickly sinking into a blissful stupor, eyes still closed, when she begins undoing the buttons on his shirt until it’s open halfway down his chest. Both of her hands slide under the parted cotton, palms dragging across skin and metal alike. Darcy pushes it off his shoulders, hands following the fabric as it moves down his arms.

“Still with me?” she asks.

“I’m always with you, Doll,” Bucky says as the plates on his left arm start to shift under her touch. His heightened sense of awareness has sent the sensors into overdrive, and it feels like he can even make out her fingerprints on the vibranium when she pauses to kiss the top of his head.

“That’s all I can reach from here, so I’m gonna move around front.”

Her hands move back up, lifting his head from her chest, and he’s lost again for a few seconds while he listens to her change position. Then she’s back, working the rest of his shirt buttons free. When she finishes there, she moves to his jeans and opens them too, and all of a sudden their little trust exercise has taken a decided turn into something a whole lot more risque than they’d discussed with his therapist prior to Darcy tying him up. Bucky can’t say he’s surprised, but then again he can’t say he has a problem with it either. Still, a little teasing her about it seems in order.

“I’m not sure this is what my doctor meant when she suggested me letting you do this,” he says, smirk curling up one corner of his mouth.

“Yeah well, I figured some of it was open to interpretation. Unless you want me to stop. Just say the word, and we go back to a G rating.”

“Nah. We can do it your way. I’m a big boy.”

“I’ll say,” Darcy replies, palming the semi that’s started in his pants through the denim fabric.

Bucky can hear the lilt of a smile in her voice. It’s damn difficult not to open his eyes so he can see it. He keeps them shut, though, eyes moving back and forth behind closed lids as her movements cause shadows to play across his face. There’s a rustling sound which he realizes moments later is her kneeling on the floor at his feet when her lips begin dropping kisses all over his chest.

It isn’t long before all Bucky can do is clutch the arms of the chair as her mouth descends closer to where he’s now rock-fucking-hard, and straining to escape his boxer briefs. Darcy stops just above the waistband, _licks_ over his abs, and then her lips disappear, making a reappearance less than a second later with a soft kiss to the back of each of his hands.

Bucky makes a sound of frustration, and gets nothing but a low, silky laugh in response from the girl who seems bent on driving him fucking crazy at the moment. She licks down the length of each finger before sucking them into her mouth, and his lungs are hitching desperately by the time she makes her way to the pinky finger on his left hand.

Still he doesn’t open his eyes. He gave her his word, and with what she’s doing for him, Bucky owes it to her to follow through on that. He can do this. For her. For them. For...

“ _Jesus, Mary, and Joseph_.” The words comes out on a shuddery exhale as her tongue swipes roughly over his cock through his boxer briefs.

“Good?” She licks him again, still over his clothes.

“Yeah.” His voice sounds thick and hoarse, and Bucky clears his throat before continuing. “It’s good.”

She laughs again, and the vibrations make him groan with the sharp bolt of pure _need_ it sends ricocheting through his body. He fucking wants her. That’s nothing new. Bucky almost always fucking wants her, but right now? Right now he’s seconds from ripping through the ties and wood alike to get to her.

It’s a close thing, but he steels his jaw and his resolve until she finally, _finally_ stops teasing him through his clothes and wraps her lips around his dick. And god help him, it’s fucking filthy the way Darcy goes straight in for the kill. Two or three licks to get him wet, and then she takes him so deep he can feel the back of her throat on the very first stroke. 

The way she gets him off is the complete opposite of the previous tender touches and soft words leading up to it, and Bucky is utterly unprepared for how fiercely his body reacts. Wood creaks in protest under his fingers, silk strains to contain him as his muscles bunch and pull against the flimsy ties holding his limbs in place. It’s a fight to stay put. A fight to keep his eyes closed. A fight to not wrench himself free, and pull her straight up into his lap so he can watch her come on his cock the way he loves.

“Please,” he rasps. “Darcy, please.”

There’s no verbal reply from her, but she threads the fingers of her right hand through his left. It’s a move that leaves him reeling no matter how many times Darcy does it. He could easily crush the delicate bones if he forgot himself for a second, and she knows it. The absolute conviction she has that he won’t is everything to Bucky.

Fuck it, _she’s_ everything to him. He’s gonna ask her to marry him just as soon as he figures out how to do it. He’s got the ring already. What he needs is a solid plan. But for now...for now Bucky is just going to concentrate on not destroying the damn chair while her mouth and tongue work him into oblivion.

Frankly, keeping the chair in one piece is getting more difficult. She licks a wide stripe up his cock, lips closing around the head when she reaches it, and tongue rolling over the slit. He’s shaking, wood splintering under the grip of his right hand. Her fingers are still wound through his on the left, and he gives them a feather-light squeeze which she returns.

Bucky’s teeth cut into his bottom lip as she drags sounds out of him that would be embarrassing if he could muster the ability to care...which he can’t. He’s so damn close that anything could tip him over the edge. Every part of him tightens, drawing in, tamping down, getting ready for the moment when Darcy sets it free.

And then with a twist of her wrist, and a single deep stroke, she does. 

It’s like a goddamn avalanche how hard it hits him. Blood roars in his ears, almost drowning out the sound of tearing fabric and snapping wood. Everything dissolves but the two of them, and the feel of her hand in his, as he finishes with a lengthy catalog of curses. Some of which haven’t seen the light of day since he was out in the field with the 107th. 

When he finally opens his eyes, it’s to a scene of destruction. He’s torn the right arm clean off the chair. The broken shards of wood hang uselessly from the shredded tie barely clinging to his wrist. One of the front legs has snapped, and he’s supporting his weight on the other three. The tie that was knotted around his left leg is a mass of torn red and silver threads. Not only that, but there are cracks through the entire surface of the chairback and seat, he can feel them with every shift of his body.

The only thing still wholly intact is the chair arm on his left. It’s still as pristine as it was when they began, and Darcy still has her fingers linked with his.

“Hey,” she says quietly, smiling up at him. “So I think maybe we made some progress here.”

He shakes his head and grins, trying to find the words to respond. It takes him a few seconds, and then he says, “Progress? Doll, I think we just put this one to bed.”

“I don’t know. Maybe I should tie you up a couple more times just to be sure,” Darcy offers mischievously. 

He lifts his arm, and the pieces of wood dangling from it clatter to the floor. “We’d need to invest in stronger chairs.”

She makes a sound of agreement while tucking him back in his pants. Then she unties the only knot still holding, and stands up. Bucky gets up as well, wrapping his arms around her the moment he’s back on his feet. Darcy goes up on her tiptoes so she can tuck her face into the hollow of his neck. The scent of her shampoo, some kind of fruit...maybe raspberries or peach...washes through his senses, and Bucky goes still, just breathing her in.

“Thank you,” he tells her. 

“Is it weird if I say ‘you’re welcome’ after tying you up?” she replies, and he chuckles.

“Not if you let me take you to bed once you’ve said it.”

“Mmm. Well, you’re so totally welcome then.”

“C’mon, Spot.” He picks her up so she can wind her legs around his waist, and heads down the hall towards their bedroom, leaving the wreckage of the chair and his dead ties behind them. “I think it’s my turn to make you talk.”

“Oooooh. Are you going to teach me how a Russian spy does it?” she asks.

“Нет. Я собираюсь научить вас, как Джеймс Бьюкенен Барнс делает это,” he responds.

Darcy leans back in his arms, one eyebrow quirked up, and says, “That’s hot.”

“You think so, huh? Just wait until I teach you what it means.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I don't speak Russian, and went to the Google Translate Correspondence School of Mangled Languages for the translations. So, if you actually do speak Russian, I apologize deeply if I've destroyed your native tongue. That being said, according to Google, what Bucky said to Darcy when she asked him if he was going to teach her how Russian spies do it is 'No. I'm going to teach you how James Buchanan Barnes does it'. Yup. There you have it. ;D


End file.
